A Song for Rory

by Cerella Sechrist

  “Why now?” she asked him.

  Sawyer hesitated, his eyes flickering with some emotion she didn’t recognize. Guilt? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, she pushed the question to find out.

  “After two years of complete and utter silence, why did you come back now?”

  “Because I missed you.”

  She wanted to believe him, but something didn’t ring true. He wanted something from her, something that went beyond simply missing her and wanting her back in his life.

  “A lot may have changed between us in two years, Sawyer, but I can still tell when you’re holding something back.”

  He tugged at the baseball cap, a sign of his discomfort. “I’m telling you the truth. I miss you, Rory. More than you can imagine. I think about you all the time. There are nights when I toss and turn because my dreams are full of you and how I let you go. Some days, I forget to eat because my stomach is in knots, wondering what you’re doing, worrying that you’ll move on and find somebody else. I try to write music, but the words won’t come to me because I don’t have you there to tell me which lyrics are good. Sometimes, I can’t even—”

  “Wait, back up.”

  Sawyer stopped speaking as she held up a hand, but his mouth remained open as he registered her words.

  “You’re having a hard time composing music?”

  His jaw snapped closed, and he looked almost guilty.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” She began pacing, her steps trying to keep rhythm with her racing heart. “You’re blocked. That’s what all this is about. You’re feeling the pressure to top your first album, and you don’t have anything to write about.”

  “Rory, that’s not it.”

  She couldn’t even look at him. Because if she did, she might be foolish enough to believe his protests.

  “It makes sense you’d come back now. You’re probably due for some studio time, am I right?”

  When he remained silent, she had her answer. She found the courage to stop moving and turn her attention on him.

  “You thought you could come back here and have some sort of...what, summer fling with me? To kick-start your creativity?”

  He appeared offended by the suggestion but a little embarrassed, too. Which only proved her point.

  Sawyer hadn’t come back to Findlay Roads because he loved her, because he missed her. He’d come back because he needed a muse. This realization drained the last of her anger and left her feeling sad and tired.

  “I really need to get back to work.”

  “Rory.”

  He stepped toward her, but she automatically took a step back. The hurt in his expression was like a knife to the chest, but she steeled herself against it.

  “I’m not here because I need to write new songs. I’m here for you.”

  “But it’s not that simple, is it?” she countered, her voice flat.

  He conceded with a nod, and for some reason, it felt a little too much like surrender on his part. Was he really giving up so easily? She shook her head, confused. Shouldn’t she want him to give up? To go back to Nashville and leave her in peace?

  “I really do need to get back to the restaurant.” Connor was probably worried about her, plus she didn’t like asking her coworkers to pick up her slack.

  Sawyer sighed. “Okay. Then is there another time we could talk? There’s some stuff I’d really like to get off my chest.”

  She bristled. Not only did he need a muse, but he also wanted her to be his confessor? Nearly two years without a word, and now he was asking her to find time for him to unburden his guilt? Well, maybe she’d show him what it felt like to be humiliated and abandoned.

  “Fine then. How about tomorrow?” she offered, keeping her tone cool. “You can stop by the restaurant in the afternoon, before the dinner rush. That’s when I normally get my break.”

  Sawyer brightened considerably, and she felt a twinge of guilt. She’d just outright lied to him. She wasn’t scheduled to work tomorrow.

  “You don’t think Connor will mind?”

  “Leave Connor to me.”

  Sawyer smiled. “Tomorrow. I’ll look forward to it.”

  His hopeful expression cut into her heart, and she nearly opened her mouth to tell him the truth. But then she remembered how she’d felt, when he’d broken things off with her at the diner beside the Motel 8 in Little Rock, Arkansas. All because he’d been offered a recording contract, on the condition that he was a solo act with no Rory in tow.

  She still remembered the words he’d spoken when he sat her down to end their relationship...

  “I’m sorry, Rory, but it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. I can’t just pass it up for...” He’d trailed off, looking sheepish.

  “For me,” she’d said, finishing the sentence for him. “For us.”

  He’d sighed, the sound a huff of impatience. “They think I have a real shot, Rory—that I could be the next country music superstar. Only...it would be better if I was unattached, both musically and personally.”

  “So I’m excess baggage, is that it?”

  He’d made a gesture of dismissal. “You know it’s not like that. But sometimes, a person has to make sacrifices to go after what they want. And you and I have been together for so long. It’s probably about time we go our separate ways. You understand, right?”

  She shuddered at the memory. Oh, she’d understood him all too well. It had been easy for him to toss her aside when something better came along. She had been his sacrifice, but she’d felt more like an old shoe, thrown out when no longer useful.

  Because just like that, he’d severed thirteen years of love, friendship and collaboration. He’d drawn a line between who he was and who he wanted to be. He had never even checked in to see if she’d found her way safely back home to Findlay Roads.

  Recalling that low point in her life, she managed to shake off her guilt at leading him on.

  “Tomorrow,” she repeated, forcing her tongue around the lie. “I’ll see you then.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  SAWYER SHOWED UP at Callahan’s the next afternoon with a bouquet of flowers—purple freesias, Rory’s favorite—and a stack of autographed CDs for the restaurant staff. He felt a tingle of anticipation as he stepped toward the restaurant door, catching a brief reflection of himself in the windows. He’d chosen a casual, white button-down shirt, rolled up to his elbows, and he was wearing a faded pair of jeans. He’d ditched the baseball hat from yesterday, but he did wear a pair of sunglasses, both to combat the late-afternoon light and to hopefully stem any recognition as he walked into Connor’s establishment.

  Fortunately for him, business was apparently slow this time of day, and he only glimpsed a few tables with patrons. He saw several servers moving around, though, probably preparing for the dinner rush. He approached the hostess stand and found the same young woman from the day before. She was speaking with another woman, petite and curvaceous with blond hair. She held a stack of menus in her hand, and he couldn’t help noticing the ring she wore. A claddagh ring, on her left hand. The two women turned as he stepped up to the podium.

  Even with the sunglasses, the younger one from yesterday recognized him.

  “Oh! It’s you!”

  He smiled for her as he removed his shades. “It’s me,” he agreed.

  The second woman cocked her head, as though trying to place him. He’d seen that look before, on the streets and at airports or at coffee shops, and even the grocery store. It was the look people got when they thought he was familiar but couldn’t quite believe he was someone famous.

  “I’m Vanessa.” The younger woman held out a hand.

  He shifted the CDs and flowers into one arm to respond to her handshake. “Nice to officially meet you, Vanessa. I’m—”

  “Sawyer Lan
dry. Of course you are.” She let her hand linger in his until he withdrew.

  He slid a glance in the other woman’s direction and caught her frowning at him.

  “Vanessa, can you take these into the back?” She shifted the stack of menus neatly into Vanessa’s arms.

  “Oh, but Harper...can’t I stay here?” She looked from the blonde to him, and back again, obviously conveying some sort of coded message.

  The one named Harper shook her head. “No, I think I’d better handle this.”

  Sawyer steeled himself. Harper may have looked sweet and pleasant, but he had the feeling she was a formidable gatekeeper. He wondered if Rory had actually put her in place to keep him away. But why invite him back to the restaurant if she didn’t want to see him? Maybe just to get him off her back temporarily. The thought filled him with dismay. He’d been looking forward to this for the last twenty-four hours.

  As Vanessa walked away with the menus in hand, Harper turned to face him.

  “We haven’t met,” she began. “I’m Harper Worth, Connor’s fiancée.”

  Sawyer’s eyebrows lifted. “Connor’s fiancée? Sorry, I didn’t realize he was engaged.”

  She smiled, and he had the sense she couldn’t help it. She seemed excited about her role as Connor’s bride-to-be.

  “I’m Sawyer Landry,” he belatedly offered.

  “I know. Even if I didn’t recognize you from your music, I’ve seen photos from when you grew up around here.”

  “Oh.” He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Just how much did Harper know about him? How much had Rory shared?

  He held up the CDs. “I brought these for some of the staff. One of the servers—I think her name was Dani—asked for an autograph yesterday. I promised I’d bring some albums by. Can you make sure she gets one of them?”

  “Of course.” Harper took the CDs from his hand, her gaze darting to the flowers though she didn’t comment on them. “That’s very nice of you. You have several fans here, so I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgment, and then the two of them fell into an awkward silence.

  “Um, did Rory tell you I was coming?”

  Harper cocked her head. “No. Was she supposed to?”

  He didn’t know how to answer that. There wasn’t a reason for her to inform Harper he’d be stopping by. After all, she’d said they could talk on her break since it wouldn’t interrupt her work. But then, this woman was going to be her sister-in-law. Wasn’t that the kind of thing sisters shared with each other? He’d only ever had a brother, so he’d never had a chance to observe a lot of sisterly interactions. And he supposed it was different between sisters and sisters-in-law anyway. He cleared his throat.

  “Rory and I made plans. She said to stop by around this time—that she’d probably be getting a break before the dinner rush. Is she available?” He shifted the freesias from one hand to the other, feeling increasingly awkward under Harper’s steady scrutiny. He could only imagine how Connor had railed about him to her. He doubted Rory’s brother had given the best impression. He again wondered what, if anything, Rory had said to her.

  Harper hesitated, and he had the sense bad news was coming.

  “I’m sorry, but Rory isn’t working today.”

  He frowned in confusion. “Was there a last-minute schedule change or something?”

  She shook her head. “No, there have been no changes to the schedule, at least none involving Rory, this week.”

  Had she forgotten he was dropping by? Or had she simply gotten her schedule confused? Maybe she didn’t have his number anymore, to let him know plans had changed.

  “In fact, she never works on Fridays,” Harper went on. “She has a standing gig at the Lighthouse Café on Friday nights, so she’s always off those days.”

  Sawyer’s face heated. Rory wasn’t the forgetful sort. If she’d told him to come by today, on a day she never worked, she’d done it on purpose. She’d stood him up.

  “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I must have gotten the day wrong then.”

  Harper looked at him with pity, seeing through his lame excuse, and that only served to stoke his frustration. Okay, so maybe he’d deserved this little trick on Rory’s part. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t due some payback. But he was still embarrassed and disappointed. He’d thought there’d been a crack in the wall she’d erected between them, but he realized now that her defenses were still solidly in place. Well, round two to Rory. That didn’t mean he was giving up. If she wanted to play hard-to-get, he’d just have to step up his game.

  “Wait. Did you say she’s playing at the Lighthouse tonight?”

  Harper hesitated, and he wondered if she hadn’t meant to give up that bit of information. But then, he thought he saw a sparkle in her eyes, just before she lowered her face from view.

  “Did I? Oh, well, everyone around here knows that Rory plays there on Friday nights. She goes on at the same time every week. Eight o’clock sharp. Anyone in town could have told you that.”

  Harper wasn’t looking at him. She was studiously swiping at the hostess podium, as if brushing away dust, but it was obviously already clean. He had the feeling Harper Worth was on his side for some reason. He grinned even though she hadn’t looked at him.

  “That’s handy information, Miss Worth.”

  She glanced up. “Please, call me Harper.”

  “Harper,” he said, “it was a pleasure to meet you. Connor is clearly a lucky man.”

  She smiled broadly at the compliment.

  “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again soon,” she offered.

  The words gave him hope. Whatever Rory had or hadn’t shared with her future sister-in-law, he seemed to have Harper’s stamp of approval—at least to attempt winning Rory back.

  He considered the freesias in his hand. Rory had never been much of the chocolate-and-flowers type. Showing up with them might only make it look as though he didn’t know her anymore.

  But he did. He still knew her.

  He held the flowers toward Harper.

  “Why don’t you take these? My way of saying thanks for all your help.”

  Harper looked as though she might protest, but he pushed them into her arms before she could say anything.

  “Well, thank you.” She eyed him. “And if you don’t mind me saying so...good luck.”

  He nodded.

  Where Rory was concerned, he’d take all the luck he could get.

  * * *

  RORY SAT AT the coffee-shop counter, a half-finished glass of iced tea in front of her, and waited anxiously to take the stage. The Lighthouse Café was always busy on Friday nights, but this evening it was particularly packed. Every table, from one end of the room to the other, was filled with patrons. The sofas and love seats along the walls overflowed with customers of all ages, from teens to people in their thirties and forties, and even a couple she swore had to be approaching their eighties.

  The crowd didn’t really bother her. Performing to ten was the same as performing to two hundred. Once she was onstage, she always experienced a rush of self-confidence. But something about tonight had her tied up in knots, and it had nothing to do with the audience.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Sawyer. She wondered if he’d stopped by the restaurant, like she’d told him to. The thought made her squirm with guilt. As much as Sawyer deserved a little payback, she didn’t really feel right about what she’d done. She wasn’t the vengeful type, and she’d never stood a guy up before. Then again, the only guy she’d ever really dated was Sawyer, unless she counted Bobby Hughes in fifth grade and that one guy she’d gone to dinner with last year. But a stolen kiss on the playground and a boring evening out didn’t come close to what she’d had with Sawyer. Still, she’d never been so coy before as to lead s
omeone on.

  Even if he was six feet tall with eyes that could turn her into a puddle with one look. She shook her head and took a swig of iced tea. Nope, don’t go there, Rory. Sawyer may have come back to town talking big about apologies, but it didn’t mean they’d pick up where they’d left off. How could they? They were different people now. Especially him.

  “Rory, you all set?”

  She shook off her reverie as Dave Ridgley addressed her from behind the counter. He was the owner of the café and hosted most of the Friday night performances. He’d been the one to approach Rory about playing at the Lighthouse. He’d seen her perform at the annual 4th of July celebration in town last year and asked if she’d be interested in a weekly gig at his newly established coffee shop in town. At first, she’d been hesitant. She hadn’t been doing much with her music since she and Sawyer split. But the invitation niggled at her until she agreed to a trial run, of sorts. Within the first month, not only did she have a solid following of friends and acquaintances coming to see her perform, but she also became hooked on the opportunity to play her music on a weekly basis. And over the last year, she’d gained quite a few fans who made the effort to come out every Friday and hear her sing. It was encouraging, and a boost to her ego, to realize she had enough talent on her own, without Sawyer, that people wanted to hear her music.

  “Ready when you are, Dave,” she said and stood to follow him.

  They stepped onto the stage together, and Rory grabbed her guitar from its stand as Dave tapped the mic. A few conversations continued, but most of the crowd turned their attention to the platform.

  “Looks like we’ve got a full house tonight,” Dave began. “I’m guessing it’s not because you came to hear me sing.”

  There were a few chuckles, and one guy near the front let out a heartfelt “boo.”

  “All right, Jeremy, you’ve obviously had too much caffeine already. I’m cutting you off. No more espresso shots.”